


(Invisible Threads Are) The Strongest Ties

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Good Hunting [19]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural, The Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 13:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Supernatural/Invisible Man, Sam + Dean/Darien Fawkes + Bobby Hobbes, stumbling across one another on a hunt for a monster that could be a biologically modified human."Pre-Season 1 of Good Hunting, Team Mitchell-McKay has crashed Sam and Dean's spring break plans. In which Sam is such a big bitch, Miko is a little bitch, and Cam is nothing in between.





	(Invisible Threads Are) The Strongest Ties

Dean said to Sam, “You’re such a little bitch.”

Sam frowned, hurt. “Hey!”

Dean, marching at the front of the line, ignored him.

Miko piped up with a similarly hurt, “Hey!”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at her where she was peeking around Sam’s arm, then back up at Sam. “Correction: you’re such a _big_ bitch.”

Sam said again, “Hey!”

But Miko said, “Thank you.”

“Captain Winchester,” Lorne said, because he was the very definition of an officer and a gentleman, “be nice to your brother, and to Dr. Kusanagi.”

Dean’s mouth twisted into a frown, the kind of frown that meant he was inches away from making a face at someone as soon as they looked away.

To make matters complicated, Miko began to sing, _“I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother, I’m a sinner, I’m a saint; I do not feel ashamed.”_

Cam joined in, his sweet tenor mingling with hers in a complete aural oxymoron. _“I’m your hell, I’m your dream, I’m nothing in between. You know you wouldn’t want it any other way.”_

Dean cleared his throat loudly. “Sir, if you and Miko are any louder, you’re going to scare our quarry away - or alert every camper in a ten-mile radius to our presence.”

Cam caught Sam’s eye and winked, and Sam couldn’t help it; he laughed.

It was Rodney who said, “According to the research, the sasquatch isn’t just a humanoid bear. The mere fact of singing won’t necessarily scare it away.”

“But if it knows we’re here, it’s going to run away.” Dean had a distinct whine in his tone. Dean said again, “You’re such a little bitch, Sammy. This is all your fault.”

Sam gritted his teeth, politely held a branch out of the way so it wouldn’t hit Miko in the face. “Correction: this is all _your_ fault. You know what everyone else is doing for their Spring Break? Writing onto Law Review. Or updating their outlines for final exams. Or, I don’t know, going to Cabo and partying. But do you know what I’m doing? Hiking in the Olympic National Forest on a hunt for _bigfoot.”_

“The name,” Dean said loftily, “is _sasquatch.”_

“Actually,” Miko said, “there are many names for many super-sized hairy hominid creatures spotted in the Pacific Northwest, varying from culture to culture.”

“Yeah,” Cam drawled. “Don’t be so ethnocentric.”

“This from the white corn-fed farmboy,” Dean drawled right back, in imitation of Cam’s accent.

Sam inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. _“This can be our Grand Canyon,_ you said. You know what happened the last time you said that? We hunted the Morton House. Nearly got ourselves killed. Also had to spend the night locked up with a bunch of wannabe Buffy Scooby Gang members.”

Dean cast Sam an annoyed look. “Yeah, well, if you hadn’t opened your big mouth, we could’ve been kicking back with some easy supplies and a bunch of brewskies in our packs. Now instead of shootin’ the shit and knocking back beers, we’re on a _mission.”_

Miko said, “Your suggested hunt has legitimate scientific merit.”

Lorne said, meekly (especially for someone who outranked Sam and Dean both), “I just happened to overhear. I really didn’t mean to intrude. You mentioned possibly going after a sasquatch and I just - I was brainstorming. It was all theoretical. If we _did_ go on a hunt for one, the best place to hunt would be the place with the most sightings, which is Washington, and of course we’d be most likely to find a bigfoot - assuming they exist - someplace that’s pretty remote, so going with the National Park Service’s recommendation for the most remote forests in Washington would the only logical -”

“Captain,” Cam said, which was always a bit confusing for a second, because Dean was also a captain, “how is it that your head hasn’t exploded?”

Sam glanced back. Cam was walking behind Miko, and Rodney was walking behind him, leaving Lorne on rear guard.

“I don’t know nearly as much as Dr. McKay,” Lorne said.

Rodney preened.

“If anyone’s head is going to explode, it’s going to be McKay’s,” Lorne continued, and Rodney looked alarmed.

Dean said, “That can be arranged.”

Rodney protested. “Hey!”

And then Dean halted, raised a closed fist. Sam froze. Miko stumbled into him, but the rest of the line froze behind him. Sam silenced his breaths. Even before he’d gone to the Academy, he’d know CRE hand signals by heart. John Winchester had made sure his sons could hunt as a team in perfect silence. Dean signaled again, _Line abreast formation,_ and they spread out, Dean in the middle, Sam and Miko and Cam to his left, Lorne and Rodney to his right. Then Dean signaled for them to advance as one. _I see one enemy,_ he signaled further.

Probably not _enemy_ so much as _stranger,_ but CRE signals weren’t sign language. Dean waited till everyone acknowledged, and then as one they advanced, moving as soundlessly as they could through the undergrowth. At Dean’s next signal, they spread out, into a wider circle.

And there he was, a single man, maybe Dean’s height, wearing gray slacks, a button-down shirt, a brown corduroy jacket, and some gray suede loafers not really conducive to hiking. He didn’t have a backpack or any other hiking supplies, which was mildly alarming, given how far from civilization they were. He was leaning against a tree, hands in his pockets, staring up at the sky and whistling idly.

Then he turned and looked at Sam. “Took you long enough.”

None of them were carrying assault rifles. Cam, Dean, Sam, and Lorne all had their sidearms with them.

Sam blinked. “Do I know you?”

The man - he had thick, spiky dark brown hair, a long face, and dark eyes - straightened up. “No, but then you’re not supposed to. Also, you’re not supposed to be here.”

Dean huffed. “Why? You don’t own this forest.”

The man reached into his jacket, and Sam went for his gun.

“Whoa, easy. Don’t get trigger-happy on me. You’ll seriously regret it later because -” The man raised his hands slowly in a gesture of surrender. He was holding a familiar little leather wallet. “I am an agent with the Bureau of Weights and Measures.”

Sam eased his hand away from his gun.

“Never heard of it,” Dean said.

“Subsidiary of the United States Postal Service,” the man said easily. “Agent Darien Fawkes. And you are?”

Sam glanced at Cam, who was across the circle from him. Cam glanced at Rodney. Rodney shrugged, and Cam reached into his jacket, drew out his own leather wallet. “Agent Cameron Lorne, Department of Homeland Security.”

Fawkes raised his eyebrows. “Homeland Security? That’s -”

“A complete and utter lie,” another man said.

Sam spun around, drew his pistol in a single smooth motion. The other man was already aiming a gun at him. He was short, shorter than Lorne, with a bald pate but dark hair, piercing eyes, and perfect marksman’s stance.

“It’s all in the haircuts,” the man said. “Military. All of ’em. Except for the broad and the soft one.”

Rodney said, “Hey!”

“Former military,” Cameron said. “I like a low-maintenance haircut. As the senior field agent, well, my men follow my lead.” He pocketed his credentials smoothly. “Who are you?”

“Agent Bobby Hobbes, also with Weights and Measures. We’re in the middle of an important operation, so you need to clear out, far out, and stay out of our way.” Hobbes flashed his credentials with a practiced flick of his wrist.

Sam knew his tone, the familiar firm, authoritarian timber to it. The man probably had a legit history in law enforcement. Only two types of men had that tone - cops and drill sergeants.

“Pretty sure national security trumps whatever official weights and measures can be found in a forest,” Cam said.

Hobbes stepped toward Cam. “As federal agents, _everything_ we do is for national security.”

“Not all federal agencies are created equally,” Cam said, and he was damn good at playing the cocky Fed.

Something rustled in the trees behind them.

Dean spun, hand on his gun.

Hobbes and Fawkes turned as well.

“Fawkes,” Hobbes said, his tone warning, and Fawkes ducked his head, went still. Listening.

“Fawkes, what have you got for me?” Hobbes asked, and he was holding what looked like a flare gun.

Flare gun. Sam’s mind spun. “Might be a wendigo out there,” he said, and Dean and Cam reached for their own flare guns.

Hobbes turned to him. “What makes you say that?”

Sam nodded at Hobbes’s flare gun. “Well, _you_ came prepared for one.”

“Pro tip,” Dean said, “if you’re going to pretext as a federal agency, pick one that actually exists.”

Cam took over command smooth, using CRE signals to get the team to circle up.

Sam shifted but made sure his back never was to Fawkes.

“Our federal agency exists,” Hobbes spluttered, and Fawkes said,

“It’s here.”

“Captain Lorne?” Cam asked.

“On it, sir.” Lorne began to chant, and Sam felt magic thrum in the air. It would never not feel uncanny and a little uncomfortable as it prickled across his skin, like a sudden burst of fever.

“Do you have a visual?” Cam asked.

“Negative, sir,” Sam said, and similar replies sounded down the line.

“I’m not getting any unusual readings.” Rodney had his EMF meter in one hand and a flare gun in the other.

Hobbes arched an eyebrow but had his hand cannon poised to shoot. “Readings from what?”

“They don’t always give off readings,” Dean said.

“This far out in the wilderness,” Rodney said, “nothing should be interfering, so if the meter spikes -”

“Lorne’s not making it spike?” Miko asked, curious.

Rodney shrugged. “No more than usual.”

“Doctors, now is _not_ the time.” Cam was scanning the trees. To Hobbes, he said, “I take it this isn’t your first wendigo hunt.”

“We’re not hunting a wendigo,” Hobbes said. “There’s no such thing -”

“Cut the bullshit.” Cam’s tone brooked no argument. “If there’s one out there, we have to work together to survive. They’re smart, and they’re fast. Stay together, stay in line of sight.”

Hobbes and Fawkes exchanged looks, and something silent passed between them. They shrugged, nodded, and then stepped up to join the circle, shoulder-to-shoulder. Whoever they were, they’d been a team for a long time, or been through hell as a team in a short time. They moved together instinctively. Sam knew he had it with Dean. Trying to learn to move that way with people other than Dean - or Dad - had been hard.

“Now,” Cam said, “we need to set a perimeter. Lorne, Sam, move in one circle and start carving. Remember, stay in each other’s line of sight, because wendigo can mimic human voices. If it’s been stalking us, it knows what we sound like, and it’ll try to trick us, separate us.”

“Wait, what?” Fawkes said. “No, wendigo can’t talk. Can they talk? Bobby?”

Hobbes was scanning the trees, alert. “How should I know? Did one ever try to talk to you?”

“No!”

Sam slid back behind Miko’s shoulder, drew his K-bar, and started carving anti-Wendigo wards into the nearest tree. He and Dean were on opposite sides of the circle. If they both rotated in the same direction - counterclockwise for mystical purposes - they’d finish the circle in half the time.

“Just what kind of wendigo have you hunted?” Cam asked. Like Sam and Dean, he pronounced it _wen-DEE-go,_ where Hobbes and Fawkes pronounced it _WEN-dih-go._

“The invisible kind,” Hobbes said. “You got eyes on him, Fawksie?”

Sam glanced at Fawkes, who had all of a small Beretta 9 mil, and saw him bow his head again, like he had before when he was listening. Was he some kind of psychic?

Only Fawkes lifted his head, and his eyes were pitch black.

Sam reached for Ruby’s knife. _“Christo!”_

Dean reacted instinctively, spun and splashed Fawkes with holy water from his flask.

Fawkes yelped. “What the hell are you doing? There’s a wendigo out there and you’re starting a water fight?”

“Lorne,” Cam said, and Evan dropped back to join Sam and Dean, and the rest of the team shifted to cover the gap.

Sam was confused. Fawkes hadn’t looked pained at the utterance of the Name of the Lord, nor had he reacted beyond the ordinary when splashed with holy water.

And the black in his eyes was gone.

Lorne began to chant from memory, swift and sure, _“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis -”_

Fawkes didn’t even twitch.

Hobbes spun around. “Hey now, what’s this? I know I haven’t been to church in an awfully long time, but I know an exorcism when I hear one. My buddy is not possessed. We’re _federal agents.”_

“Lieutenant?” Cam asked.

“His eyes were black, sir,” Sam said. “Just like a demon’s.”

Fawkes raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “What? Who? Me? Have you been _smoking_ something?” He made a toking motion with one hand.

Hobbes crowed. “I knew you were military!”

There was another rustling in the trees.

Fawkes turned, blackness sliding over his eyes, and Dean and Lorne both burst out with another _Christo!_ Fawkes didn’t react.

“It’s here,” he said again. “It’s moving away from us. It’s - smaller than the last one.”

“Maybe another baby?” Hobbes asked.

Sam glanced at Dean, who looked very confused.

“Wendigos don’t have babies,” Miko said.

“Not that small,” Fawkes said. “Maybe a teenager.” He arched an eyebrow at Miko, and his eyes were normal again. “Yes they do. I’ve seen a baby wendigo’s bones. They’re sentient. Sapient. Have families, just like us.”

“Lorne?” Cam asked.

“I’ve never read that in the lore, sir.” Lorne had a rosary in one hand and his gun in the other.

Sam lifted his chin at Hobbes. “Just what kind of wendigo are you hunting?”

“We’re not hunting any wendigo,” Hobbes said.

Cam barked, “I said _cut the bullshit.”_

“We’re not,” Fawkes said. “We’re not out here looking for a wendigo. Sasquatch. Whatever. We’re here for a different job, and if we just happen to come across a wendigo, well - call it kismet.”

Dean said, “A sasquatch and a wendigo aren’t the same thing.”

“Yes they are,” Hobbes said.

“No,” Dean said slowly. “A wendigo is a black magician who turns to cannibalism to achieve immortality. Or a poor sucker who had to turn to cannibalism in the dead of winter to survive starvation and became - something else. Sasquatch is - sasquatch. Big foot. Super hard to find.”

“Black magician?” Hobbes shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Says the federal agent who thinks it’s kismet to run into a wendigo,” Cam snapped. “We’ve seen what these creatures can do. They can rip a man apart with their bare hands.”

And then Dean’s eyes lit up. “Unless they _have_ hunted a sasquatch before! What if what’s out there is an actual sasquatch and not a wendigo?”

“Of course it’s a Wendigo, right, Fawkes?” Hobbes nudged his partner.

Fawkes nodded. “Yeah. Ten feet tall. Hairy.”

“Wendigos aren’t hairy,” Dean said. “They’re all bald and leathery.”

Miko sidled into the mix. “Clearly we’re talking about two different creatures. What they call a wendigo, we call a sasquatch. They’ve apparently never heard of a real wendigo.”

“What kind of hunters are you?” Rodney asked. “Other than terribly inept ones.”

Hobbes threw his hands up. “For the last time, we’re federal agents!”

Lorne was fixed on Fawkes. “What are you? You sometimes have black eyes, but you’re not a demon.”

“There’s no such thing as demons,” Fawkes said. “And I don’t know what you’re saying about my eyes -”

“You can’t shill your way out of this,” Lorne said. “I saw you. Dean saw you. Sam saw you. What are you?”

“He’s not giving off EMF readings either.” Rodney waved the meter at Fawkes.

“Hey.” Fawkes tried to swat him away.

Cam said, “Whatever it is, it’s still out there.”

There was another rustle in the trees. They all turned toward it. When Sam glanced over his shoulder, Fawkes’s eyes were demon-black once more, and he appeared to be scanning the trees like the rest of them.

“I’m not seeing it. Like I said, it was moving away,” he said.

Cam shifted back into position, gestured for Miko, Lorne, and Rodney to do the same. “Then there could be something else out there. Winchester! Back on the wards.”

Sam and Dean chorused, _Yes, sir!_ as surely as they’d done it for their father and resumed carving. They were done in record time, and they took up their places in the perimeter again.

“Battle stations,” Cam said softly, and Miko drew her pistol. Rodney put his EMF meter away and fumbled for his pistol as well.

Fawkes shook his head. “It’s gone.”

They held their breath, listened.

Nothing.

Dean sighed. “I told you your singing would scare it away.”

“Captain!” Cam hissed. “Hold positions.”

But Hobbes and Fawkes stepped out of the circle.

“Who the hell _are_ you people?” Hobbes demanded.

“That’s classified,” Cam said. “Who are _you?_ Because you’re too inept to be real hunters.”

“That’s also classified,” Hobbes said loftily.

“Lorne?” Cam asked.

Lorne murmured under his breath. “Clear, sir.”

Cam holstered his pistol. Sam did the same, shifted to flank his commanding officer. He tugged Miko with him. Dean tugged Rodney into an automatic wedge formation, still with Lorne on their six, because he was the fastest with magic.

“Suffice it to say,” Cam said, “you can’t tell us who you are, we can’t tell you who we are. Doesn’t mean we can’t work together to survive what’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” Hobbes asked.

“I don’t know,” Cam said. “We’ve never actually encountered a sasquatch before. You have. We appreciate any intel you’re willing to share. We’re willing to share what intel we have on wendigos, although - you’ve already heard most of it. Best way to kill them is with fire. Hence your flare gun.”

Hobbes looked down at his flare gun. “What? No. This is a tranq gun. We’re not looking to kill the - sasquatch, as you call it. We want to -”

“Study it?” Miko perked up.

“Yes, study it,” Hobbes said carefully, casting Fawkes a look Sam couldn’t read.

“But we don’t want to hurt it,” Fawkes added.

“So we are basically after the same thing,” Cam said. “Then we _can_ help each other.”

“Well, we’re not officially here looking for a sasquatch.” Hobbes cleared his throat. “Like I said, if we happen to stumble upon one, that’s kismet. We’re here for -”

“Weights and Measures purposes,” Cam drawled.

Fawkes tugged on Hobbes’s shoulder. “Bobby. Come over here a minute. Let’s talk.”

“Stay in the wards, to be safe,” Cam said.

When Fawkes looked confused, Cam pointed to the Anasazi symbol carved into the nearest tree. Fawkes spun, scanned the ward line, and nodded, and Cam signaled for his team to withdraw a ways.

“Lorne?” he asked.

Lorne could read lips.

“It’s a good thing Fawkes is so tall, but Hobbes is in the way half the time,” Lorne murmured. “Something about _the Agency,_ and _Chrysalis,_ and _super speed_ and _fur_ and _military badassery._ Fawkes is calm. Hobbes’s back is to me, but he’s clearly worked up. Something about a _gland_ \- could be _grand_ \- and _get it out of my head_ and _maybe make more and better. Don’t you want one? Imagine how you’d be with one of your own. The Unstoppable Bobby Hobbes._ Now Fawkes is leaning down. Can’t see his mouth. But Hobbes is nodding. Shoulders relaxing.”

Lorne slid back into formation just as Hobbes turned around and towed Fawkes back over to them.

“All right. My partner has convinced me that we should cooperate. In the event that we do, however, encounter a sasquatch, we get first dibs.”

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but Miko dug an elbow into his ribs. She smiled. “Of course. If we could just have - a seventy-two hour window to observe the creature, that would be most appreciated.”

Seventy-two hours. If they found the creature today, Sam could get a day and a half of spring break.

Hobbes and Fawkes looked at each other.

Rodney said, “Of course, you would be present during our observation period.”

“In exchange,” Hobbes said, “since you seem experienced in the - paranormal, you help us find what we’re looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” Cam asked.

Fawkes cleared his throat. “Well, we’re not - sure. This isn’t usually our gig. But - human-sized and -shaped. Except very furry. Super fast. Super strong. Crazy reflexes. Sense of smell that is distinctly - canine.”

“Possibly lupine?” Sam asked.

“Possibly,” Fawkes conceded.

Hobbes looked confused. Dean looked confused. Miko and Rodney looked intrigued.

“You ever deal with anything like that?” Hobbes asked.

Cam nodded warily.

Fawkes sidled closer. “You ever deal with anything else that’s been bio-engineered special before?”

Hobbes dug an elbow into his ribs and dragged Fawkes back to the far side of the perimeter. There was no need for Lorne to read lips because Hobbes wasn’t very good at staying quiet.

“Why would you ask that? They talked about black magicians and demons. Obviously they don’t understand about the bioengineering problem going on in the upper echelons of international espionage. Way to tip our hand, moron!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Fawkes said. “Just - look. They believe in sasquatch and wendigo. Maybe what they believe in is like -”

“No. Nothing’s like you. Now just - stick to the plan.” And Hobbes towed Fawkes back over to them.

Cam said, “How about we set up camp, eat some food, and really trade intel? Make sure we understand what you’re up against, come up with some approaches, and go from there.”

Hobbes nodded. “Sounds good to me. Where should we camp?”

“Somewhere near water, preferably,” Rodney said. “Even if we’re camping, I do like to be able to wash.”

“You two have no gear,” Dean pointed out.

“We do,” Hobbes said. “We just kept it somewhere safe so we didn’t have to lug it around and hamper our own mobility.” His expression was smug.

Dean looked irritated.

“Do we want to leave the ward-thingie, though?” Fawkes gestured at one of the carved trees.

“We can ward our campsite,” Cam said. “Where’s your gear?”

Hobbes took the lead. “This way.”

Fawkes fell in behind him. Obviously Hobbes was the senior agent or partner as between them. Hobbes was also better at orienteering, leading the way quite confidently, though he wasn’t much more appropriately dressed for the setting than Fawkes was. City slickers, the both of them. Definitely not hunters. Perhaps indeed from some kind of government agency that had its own interest in the paranormal - of the weird science variety rather than the supernatural.

Hobbes had strung his and Fawkes’s gear up in a tree to keep it away from nosy animals. Sure, an enterprising bear could climb a tree, but so long as they had their food wrapped up tight, they’d be all right.

Fawkes demonstrated impressive agility - and both men displayed admirable teamwork - in getting the gear down from the tree. Fawkes struggled a bit, getting all his gear on, and it was with an air of great longsuffering that Hobbes helped him strap in.

“Where do you want to camp?” Fawkes asked.

Rodney glanced at Cam. “Outdoors aren’t really my thing. I’ll leave to you, George of the Jungle.”

“I prefer Mowgli,” Cam said. To Hobbes and Fawkes, he said, “We’ve identified some campsites near clean, running water. Captain Winchester, you’re back on point.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Dean took the lead, signaled for column formation.

Hobbes and Fawkes agreed to take their six, which made sense but was still a bit discomfiting - no soldier liked having an unknown quantity on their six. Cam shuffled them so he and Lorne were immediately ahead of them, though, protecting Miko and Rodney in the middle.

Their chosen campground was beside a clear, cool stream that ran fast. While everyone else made camp, Sam and Lorne put up another round of anti-wendigo wards just to be safe. Instead of defacing trees permanently in a natural forest, Lorne had some biodegradable spray paint and some stencils. Sam put up the anti-wendigo wards in yellow, and Lorne put up other standard wards in red - mostly anti-demon wards.

The team had a standard rotation for sharing tents. Sam and Dean were always together, but there always had to be one soldier paired with one scientist for safety purposes. Rodney and Lorne tended to share a tent because they were about of a height, which left Miko and Cam to share a tent, because Miko was so short and Cam was so tall that they could both still have enough room.

Hobbes and Fawkes were sharing a tent, too.

Lorne got a campfire going, and then everyone huddled around it, tearing into MRE pouches and ignoring each other, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally Hobbes said, “What’s _lupine?”_

“The wolf version of the word canine,” Rodney said.

Hobbes considered this for a moment. Then he turned to Fawkes. “Really? You think we’re chasing a _werewolf?”_

“No,” Fawkes said quickly. “It’s just - the symptoms fit, all right? Except for the whole changing on the light of the full moon thing, because what we’re investigating seems to be able to control its transformation to an extent.”

“To an extent,” Sam echoed.

Fawkes nodded.

“To what extent can your target control its transformation?” Rodney asked. He was leaning in and listening intently.

Fawkes glanced at Hobbes. Hobbes looked at him. There was some waggling eyebrows and shrugs, and Hobbes took over.

“Our quarry resembles a caucasian male, about five feet nine inches tall, a hundred and ninety pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, sharp features. He possesses preternatural strength, speed, and agility -”

“Preternatural. Good word,” Fawkes said.

It was.

Hobbes rolled his eyes. “Thank you. In addition to these physical traits, our target has a heightened sense of smell and hearing, possibly also taste and sight. When he chooses, he can mutate himself canine - or _lupine_ \- ears, fangs, and claws. Maybe also nose and face-snout area.”

Miko nodded. “Did the target mutate into a full wolf ever?”

“No,” Fawkes said.

“Did the target ever attack other people?” Dean added.

Fawkes and Hobbes nodded.

“Did the target ever try to _eat_ other people?” Sam asked.

Fawkes and Hobbes shook their heads.

Now Sam was confused. “So what did the target do? Attack people for fun?”

“It attacked a government building and attempted to access highly classified information,” Hobbes said, “and more than that, I cannot tell you, or I’d have to kill you.”

Cam raised his eyebrows. “So you’re saying this werewolf is basically a terrorist?”

Hobbes’s gaze slid away for a moment. “That’s one way to look at it.” He cleared his throat. “So, Captain Differentiates Between Wendigo and Sasquatch, how do we catch a terrorist werewolf?”

“It’s Major, actually,” Cam said. “And it depends. Traditional werewolves are dependent on phases of the moon for transformations. Sometimes they don’t even know what they are, have no memory of what they do when they’re in wolf form. So we can rule that out. But when they turn, they don’t turn into a full wolf, just - bits of them. Like what you described. Alpha wolves and Black Bouquet wolves, though, they’re not dependent on phases of the moon, don’t have post-transformation amnesia, and they retain their supernatural senses while in human form.”

“What’s the difference between Alpha wolves and Black Bouquet wolves?” Fawkes asked.

“Well, as alpha lines dilute, they turn into traditional werewolves. Black Bouquet lines don’t dilute. And - other things we don’t fully understand yet.” Sam shrugged.

“How does one kill a werewolf?” Hobbes asked. “Or does it depend on the type?”

“Silver bullet, no matter the type,” Dean said, and Sam closed his eyes, swallowed hard.

He remembered Madison, sweet-faced Madison, with her big dark eyes and her soft dark hair. Like Sam, she’d wanted to go to law school, had been working as a legal secretary in an office to make ends meet while she was going through college. Like Sam, she’d felt herself a monster for something beyond her own control, something not her fault. She’d wanted out.

She’d asked Sam to help her.

“Also fire. Beheading,” Miko said.

Hobbes huffed. “What, silver bullets are actually a thing?”

“I brought some,” Lorne said.

Cam, Sam, and Dean looked at him.

Lorne shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“So if we need to kill this thing, we’re covered,” Rodney said.

Agitation crossed Fawkes’s face. “But if we don’t want to kill it, if we want to capture it -”

Dean shrugged. “We’re not usually in the business of catching them. We’re usually in the business of killing them.”

“But you want to catch and not kill the sasquatch,” Fawkes said.

“Honestly, I just wanted to see it,” Dean said. “Never seen one before.”

“So you’ve seen three different types of werewolf but never seen a sasquatch.” Fawkes looked skeptical.

“Well, you’ve seen a sasquatch but never seen any kind of werewolf, so I guess we’re even,” Dean said.

Fawkes nodded, conceding the point.

“How _would_ we catch a wolf?” Rodney asked. “For study.”

“Werewolves need human organs - hearts preferred - to survive,” Lorne said. “Obviously using a human heart isn’t an option, but if we were willing to engage in some poaching on federal land, we could probably use some animal hearts.”

“Some federal agents you are,” Fawkes said, though he sounded more amused than scolding.

“Beyond harvesting human hearts, what’s our plan?” Rodney pressed.

Evan’s gaze turned distant. “Slaughter the animals, store the blood. Build an old-fashioned pit trap, establish a perimeter, everyone on the perimeter armed with silver ammo. Use the blood to create a trail to the trap. When the wolf arrives, trap it in the pit. See about subduing it. We probably have enough rounds of silver ammo that we could shave some down, use the shavings for some kind of -”

“Aerosolized knock-out powder!” Miko’s eyes lit up. “We could modify a flare gun for the dispersal agent.”

She moved to sit down next to Lorne and leaned in, heads bent close together, talking quickly and excitedly.

“What do you plan on doing with the wolf once you’ve caught it?” Sam asked.

“Question it,” Hobbes said. “And - study it, where possible.”

Cam raised his eyebrows. “So you’ve got back-up?”

“We’re not alone, if that’s what you’re asking,” Hobbes said, “and if something happens to us, we will be missed.”

“We’re not planning on doing anything to you.” Rodney rolled his eyes.

One by one they finished their MREs, packed the empty pouches into an animal-proof box, and settled in for some more planning. Cam was the only member of the team who had any experience hunting regular game, like deer. Between Sam’s massive trivia collection in his brain, Cam’s hunting experience, and Miko’s general science knowledge, they knew that a species of deer could be found in the forest. Cam had gone deer hunting with his father, grandfather, and uncles as a youth, and he knew how to track and kill a deer.

“Does anyone have a hunting rifle, though?” Cam asked.

“Got an AR-15,” Lorne said. “Chambered for .223. Got a pretty decent scope.”

Cam raised his eyebrows. “Is there anything you _don’t_ have?”

“Preparedness is the key to airpower,” Lorne said primly, though a smile played at the corner of his lips.

“So to clarify,” Hobbes said, “we’re going to dig a pit trap, set a silver ammo perimeter, make some kind of silver aerosolized sedative, hunt a deer, kill a deer, use its blood to lead to our trap, which will be baited with a heart, and then - bam. This creature you think is a werewolf.”

“What do _you_ think it is?” Sam asked.

Hobbes and Fawkes exchanged looks.

“Do you think it’s - bioengineered or something?” Miko asked.

Hobbes shrugged, deliberately casual. “Maybe.”

“Well, we’ve got a plan,” Rodney said. “So - Miko, you and Sam make the spray sedative.”

Miko held out a hand to Sam. “Give me your flare gun.” To Lorne she said, “Give me some silver ammo.”

“Lorne, give Mitchell your hunting rifle. You two are on bait. Dean - help me design a trap. They teach traps in Marine basic, don’t they?”

“Sure they do,” Dean said easily, which made Rodney narrow his eyes. Dean had done more than Marine basic, having been raised by John Winchester. In addition to hunting basic and Marine basic, both boys had been taught advanced Vietnam survival, and a few other things not regularly taught to the Armed Forces.

“What about us?” Hobbes asked.

“Have you ever tracked and hunted a werewolf before?” Rodney asked.

“Well, no,” Hobbes began.

“So you two figure out how we’re going to make contact with a sasquatch,” Cam said.

Miko, who’d partially disassembled Sam’s flare gun and had a handful of silver bullets spread across a spare jacket she’d laid across her lap, lifted her head. “What’s the lore on sasquatches, anyway?”

“Lore?” Fawkes echoed.

“You know - where do they come from, diet and habitat, any particular weaknesses,” Miko said. She pushed her glasses up her nose. “You said that sasquatches have babies and families and the like.”

“Oh. Well. We’re not zoologists,” Fawkes began.

“We figured that much,” Rodney said, without looking up from the notebook he and Dean were using to design a pit trap.

“We’ve only encountered the one. It was about ten feet tall. Male. Hairy. Never did quite see its face, but - it was precious about some baby bones. Had a little grave for its baby, was pretty protective.” Fawkes looked nervous.

Hobbes looked tense. “Darien -”

“Look, they believe in sasquatches and they’re not psycho like the last guy, who blew it up,” Fawkes said. “I need all the help I can get.”

“But I thought you were okay with -” Hobbes made a gesture near the back of his own head, some kind of allusion only Fawkes understood.

Fawkes swallowed hard. “I am. But I want to understand it better, and I want the option, down the road, of - _not._ And remember what I said - imagine _you_ with one, or an army, or -”

“When your eyes turn black,” Sam said. “That’s how you can see the sasquatch, isn’t it? You’re not a demon. But you can activate some kind of - sasquatch-seeing.”

Hobbes said quickly, “Let’s go with that.”

Fawkes nodded his agreement. He scrubbed a hand at the back of his neck. “So - not-sasquatch wendigos. Werewolves. Those are real. Demons are a thing too?”

Sam and Dean nodded.

“If demons are real,” Fawkes said, “what about angels?”

Sam couldn’t help but think of Michael. Judging by Dean’s dark expression, he was thinking the same thing.

“Yes,” Dean said. “But they’re dicks. About as bad as demons, most of the time. Sometimes worse.”

“And demons have black eyes?” Darien asked.

“Not all the time,” Sam said. “But sometimes they’ll show off their black eyes - it’s a sign of possession. Saying _Christo_ will make them reveal themselves, too. If you suspect someone is possessed.”

“And an exorcism prayer makes the demon go away,” Hobbes said. He jerked a thumb at Lorne. “Like that guy was saying.”

“Yes,” Lorne said. He and Cam were assembling Lorne’s AR-15, which he’d apparently been carrying in his pack in pieces. Both of them were armed with tiny screwdrivers and allen wrenches and were sitting close together, fingers tangling as they worked.

“You splashed me with water,” Fawkes said.

“Not just any water - holy water,” Dean said. “Consecrated by a priest, ideally, but you can consecrate your own in a pinch. Rosary. Right prayer.”

Fawkes sat back. “And here I thought my job was weird.”

“Not just a job,” Dean said quietly. “For some people, it’s a way of life.”

“Hunting werewolves and demons is a way of life?” Hobbes asked. He shook his head. “Some life.”

“Sam and I did it, growing up,” Dean said. “Dad called it the Family Business.”

“Our mom was a hunter, too,” Sam said. “From a family of hunters.”

“And she and your dad taught you all this?” Fawkes asked.

“No,” Dean said. “A demon killed her. When we were really little. Sam was just a baby.” That he could say it aloud, to strangers, was enormous. Dean had come a long way since their father had died in the fight against Azazel, in the battles with Lucifer and Michael.

“I’m sorry.” Hobbes sounded sincere.

“So,” Cam said, “how would we go about catching sasquatch?”

Hobbes and Fawkes refused to explain how, but apparently whatever mechanism - magic? Something else? Sam knew Rodney was going to sneak readings of Fawkes and Lorne was going to sneak some diagnostic spells - allowed Fawkes to see sasquatches also made him attractive to them. He’d be the bait.

“Is that safe?” Miko asked, eyes wide.

“With a bunch of extra people around to help, it’ll be a hell of a lot safer than last time,” Fawkes said.

“Another pit trap?” Sam asked.

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Hobbes said.

Rodney beckoned. “Get over here. You and Dean can work something out.”

They worked till it got dark, then fired up some lamps and worked till they were done. Cam and Lorne were the fastest, assembled the hunting rifle in a few minutes, then went to help Rodney and Dean design some pit traps, one for the werewolf, one for the sasquatch.

As the temperature dropped, they stoked the fire higher, huddled closer to it, working quietly, talking to each other in low voices. When it was time to turn in for the night, Sam and Miko had engineered a werewolf sleep spray gun, they had hunting gear prepped to go after a deer, and they had two traps designed. It would be easier to contain the werewolf, given its known weaknesses first, so they’d trap it, secure it in a strongbox (which Fawkes and Hobbes had in their gear, so they had indeed planned to capture the creature all along), and then they’d attempt to corral a sasquatch.

Cam, as senior officer, set a watch schedule - himself first, Sam second, Dean third, Evan last. First and last were the best watch posts to take because they were the closest to an uninterrupted night’s sleep a man could get.

“A real live sasquatch, Sammy,” Dean said, as they crawled into their sleeping bags. “We always thought they were fake.”

“Before us, a whole lot of hunters thought angels were fake, too,” Sam murmured.

Dean sobered.

Sam heard him shifting around, trying to get comfortable.

Dean said, “So, Lorne grew up the closest thing to a Man of Letters that’s existed since Grandpa Winchester and everyone else died in that fire in 1958. What else do you think is real, that only he knows about? Because Men of Letters knew about angels.”

“You’d have to ask him,” Sam said.

“Well, he didn’t think a sasquatch was real either, so we win.” Dean sighed happily. “Hey, so, what do you think is up with Agent Fawkes? That he can see sasquatches when his eyes turn black.”

“No clue. Never thought sasquatches were real, so I know zero lore on magical sasquatch-seeing eyes.”

“They don’t believe in magic, though. They believe in bio-engineering.”

“You think Agent Fawkes was bio-engineered to be able to see sasquatches?”

“It might explain why he and Hobbes are alone on a team,” Dean said. “Fawkes is some kind of bio-engineered super-agent.”

“And yet you and I hunted together as a team, no super bio-engineering necessary.”

“We’re Winchesters. We’re badass.”

“Right. Good night, Dean.” Sam closed his eyes and wondered what tomorrow would bring.

*

Sam opened his eyes. The tent was dark. Dean was fast asleep, breathing slowly and deeply. Something was moving outside the tent. Sam sat up slowly, straining to listen. Sounded like human footsteps. Someone needing to use the latrine in the middle of the night, perhaps?

But the footsteps were wrong. Irregular. Step-drag. Step-drag. Was someone hurt?

Sam eased up onto his knees, yanked on his jacket, scooped up his gun and knife (they’d been tucked under his wadded-up jacket, which he’d been using as a pillow). Then he unzipped the tent as quietly as he could, peered out into the night.

The embers of the fire were burning low, glowing red-gold.

Who was supposed to be on watch?

Dean was asleep. No one had wakened Sam. Sam hadn’t taken his turn yet. He tapped his watch, stared at the numbers. Cam should still be on watch.

Cam was nowhere to be seen.

Was what Sam had heard just Cam walking the perimeter?

A string of curses broke the night, the kinds of words that Grandma Mitchell would certainly not approve of.

Sam leaped out of the tent, hollering for Dean.

Gunshots went off.

There was a snarl and another cry - definitely Cam.

“Major!” Sam shouted. “What’s your twenty?”

“I’m up a tree and a werewolf is snapping at my heels like an overgrown chihuahua!”

Dean stumbled out of the tent, gun in hand. “Major Mitchell?”

“Over here!”

Rodney, Miko, Lorne, Fawkes, and Hobbes all exploded out of their tents, flashlights and weapons in hand.

Sam spun, listening. Heard snarls and snapping.

“Miko, get your flare gun,” Lorne said. He signalled for wedge formation, and Sam and Dean fell in behind him obediently.

Lorne ordered the equitable distribution of silver ammo so everyone best at using a gun - which was Sam, Dean, Lorne, and Hobbes - had a fair share. Then he ordered them into an L-shaped formation so they wouldn’t hit each other with gunfire, and as one they advanced on Cam’s position.

Cam was indeed up a tree, crouched on a broad bough, firing down at what certainly looked like a half-shifted werewolf every time it tried to climb the tree. Sam hadn’t been keeping track of Cam’s shots but he would run out of ammo soon, have to stop and reload. In a typical combat situation, the reload window was so small that there was little hope of taking advantage of it, but werewolves had superhuman speed. In the three seconds it’d take Cam to reload, he’d be dead.

As soon as flashlight beams landed on the werewolf, it snarled, turned to face them.

It was a werewolf, but it was - all wrong. Missing fur in patches along its scalp. Patches of its skin that weren’t furry were too-white.

“Dude,” Dean exclaimed. “The werewolf has mange!”

It snarled and lunged at him.

Dean fired. It yelped and staggered back, fell against the tree, but then it straightened up, and its eyes flashed. It was as Fawkes and Hobbes had described, a caucasian male in his thirties. But Dean was right - the werewolf looked _wrong._

Miko fired off her flare gun.

The wolf yelped again, tossed his head. He stumbled forward her, flailing his arms, claws flashing. Sam shot. Dean shot. Lorne shot. Hobbes shot.

The werewolf swiped at Miko. She dodged, fired back. Conventional ammo wouldn’t kill a werewolf, but sick as this one was, conventional ammo might slow it down.

The werewolf swiped again and nearly caught Fawkes.

“Darien!” Hobbes cried.

Something roared.

The werewolf cowered in terror.

Sam glimpsed glowing red eyes about eight feet off the ground. Fawkes was wrenched off his feet by something invisible. He bounced in midair, kicking his feet and struggling against unseen bonds.

“Dammit, not again!”

“Fawkes -” Hobbes started.

Fawkes flew backward.

Hobbes took off after him.

“Sam, stay with him!” Cam shouted.

Sam took off running after Hobbes.

Fawkes cursed and swore and kicked as he was jostled through the branches and leaves. He was bobbing as he flew - like he was being carried.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam demanded.

“Sasquatch!” Hobbes shouted.

Son of a bitch. The sasquatch was _invisible._ No wonder humans had such a hard time seeing them. No wonder -

Before Sam’s eyes, Fawkes started to turn invisible, like invisibility liquid was pouring over his body.

“Fawkes!” Hobbes shouted again. He turned to Sam. “Do you have thermal goggles?”

Sam hadn’t even thought to bring his IR goggles. “No.”

“Dammit. Follow the sound!”

Following the sound of the sasquatch would have been tough if Fawkes weren’t chattering constantly.

“Now, listen, sasquatch, I just want you to know, I’m male. I’m a _he._ I know I smell like a _she,_ but I’m really not, so if you want another sasquatch baby, you got the wrong person.”

Sam couldn’t begin to guess how that made any sense, but at least Fawkes was letting him and Hobbes know where he was.

“I also want you to know that that one sasquatch buddy of yours on that reservation in California a few years back - that wasn’t my fault. Some psycho blew himself up and took your buddy with him. Crazy revenge thing. Because some complete _other_ sasquatch killed his wife.”

Sam hadn’t thought to grab his radio. Were the others safe? How the hell would he and Hobbes subdue an invisible sasquatch?

“Not that I’m ungrateful for you saving me from a crazed werewolf. But the werewolf can’t get me now. So if you could slow down, maybe we can talk. I promise my buddies Hobbes and Sam are totally nice guys. Right?”

“Right,” Sam called back dutifully.

“So long as you don’t get hurt,” Hobbes said.

There was a sound like delicately breaking glass, and then Fawkes was visible again, still dangling in midair, on his belly, very much like someone being carried over someone else’s shoulder.

“Stop?” Fawkes asked. His eyes were pitch black in the beam of Sam’s torch. He made a tugging motion on something Sam couldn’t see.

And then he stopped.

Fawkes squirmed a little bit, and then he was set on his feet. He was looking _up_ at the invisible sasquatch.

“Thanks,” he said, surprised. And then he was wrenched forward.

Hobbes cried out, raised his weapon, but Fawkes said, “No, no! It’s okay. It’s - it’s just hugging me.”

“Hugging you?” Hobbes lowered his weapon, uncertain.

“Um,” Fawkes said. “Now it’s petting my hair. I - I think this one is female, too.”

“How can you tell?”

“When I’m invisible, males have a sort of bluish tinge? To their outlines. And females are reddish. Which explains a lot about me, I guess.”

“Oh. How gender-appropriate.” Hobbes stared at Fawkes, who was rocking back and forth. “She’s rocking you now?”

“Maybe she thinks I’m a baby girl.”

Hobbes laughed. Fawkes glared at him.

Sam cleared his throat. “Can we - can we see the sasquatch?”

“Not while she’s invisible.”

“Can you make us invisible, too?”

“You still won’t be able to see her. Just a kind of - outline.”

“An outline’s more than I’ve ever seen before,” Sam said softly.

“Fawkes,” Hobbes warned.

“I know how to keep a secret,” Sam said. “Think about what I do for a living.”

Hobbes considered. “Nope. Don’t like it.”

“Please?” Sam asked, injected a note of meekness into his voice.

Hobbes sighed. “Darien -”

Fawkes wriggled, managed to get one hand free of the sasquatch’s disturbingly affectionate embrace. “Come closer. Slowly. Need to touch you.”

“Me too,” Hobbes protested.

Sam and Hobbes both holstered their weapons, sidled closer, very cautiously.

“It feels really weird,” Hobbes warned Sam. Fawkes put a hand on Hobbes’s shoulder, and then Hobbes went invisible, like someone was pouring invisibility water over him, just as Fawkes had.

“Yup. Weird.” Hobbes’s voice hadn’t moved.

Sam reached out, let Fawkes grasp his arm. And then he was getting cold, cold, colder, the icy sensation starting at Fawkes’s hand and spreading up Sam’s arm, across his whole body.

And then the world was shades of silver and gray and light and Sam could see that Fawkes was, indeed, wrapped in the embrace of an eight-foot-tall humanoid creature.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath. “Wow.”

“Whoa,” Hobbes agreed.

Fawkes tugged on one of the creature’s arms. “Hey, you can let me go.”

Fawkes hadn’t been kidding. He and the creature were both outlined in red. Sam and Hobbes were both outlined in - gray, with the tiniest bit of a blue tint. There was a tiny bluish tint to Fawkes’s outline, but Sam wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t thought to look for it.

Fawkes tugged again, and finally the creature released him.

Fawkes shook himself out, and suddenly he was fully visible instead of just a Fawkes-shaped shadow.

“Hey,” Fawkes said, reaching toward the sasquatch-shaped shadow. “Thank you.”

Before Sam’s eyes, the sasquatch-shaped shadow disappeared, was replaced by an actual sasquatch. It was massive, fur-covered, but a lot more human-looking than Sam would have thought. And definitely female.

It made a sound, a curious trilling noise, and leaned in to Fawkes. Licked his face. Hugged him one more time, rocking him, and then backed away. Turned invisible once more.

Sam watched its departure - slowly through the trees, measured, calm.

He’d seen it. An actual sasquatch. He’d _seen_ one.

That glass-shattering sound filled his head, and the world looked normal once more. He was visible. He cleared his throat. “Are you - are you part sasquatch?”

“No,” Fawkes said.

Hobbes shimmered back into visibility.

“But you can turn invisible like them.”

Fawkes nodded.

Sam realized - through bio-engineering. He knew better than to say anything, though. “Thank you,” he said. “For letting me see -”

Fawkes shrugged, looked uncomfortable.

“How are we going to get back to the others?” Hobbes asked. “Did you bring a radio?”

Sam shook his head. “No. I wasn’t wearing my tac gear while I slept. But -”

“But what?” Hobbes asked.

“I might be able to alert the others to my presence,” Sam said.

Fawkes raised his eyebrows. “Flare gun?”

“Not quite.” Sam bowed his head, murmured. This had worked before, but only under dire circumstances, when he’d been kidnapped or otherwise dangerously separated from Dean. He began to pray. _“Dean, who art running around a forest after a werewolf, thank you for always being a good big brother. Please come find me or let me know where you are. Thank you and Amen, Sam.”_

Hobbes stared at him. Fawkes stared at him.

“Did you just pray to your own brother?” Hobbes asked.

“It’s - complicated,” Sam said.

“Is he going to answer?” Fawkes asked.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Sam said. “But sometimes, if I - if I pray to him, he can sense where I am.”

Hobbes opened his mouth to protest, and Sam said, “Tonight we fought a werewolf and your partner got hugged by a sasquatch.”

“Point,” Hobbes conceded.

“So let’s wait for a bit,” Sam said.

Fawkes and Hobbes exchanged looks, nodded. Sam and Hobbes switched off their flashlights to conserve battery life, and they ended up sidling closer and closer together, shivering in the cold night.

“So you do this for a living? Hunting supernatural creatures?” Hobbes asked.

“I’m on spring break, actually,” Sam said.

“Spring break?” Fawkes echoed. “What are you, a college kid?”

“Law school 1L, actually. Stanford. Air Force is paying my way,” Sam said.

“Ha! I knew you were military.” Hobbes about came up to Sam’s shoulder.

“But like Dean said, we grew up doing this. Family business.”

“And the military is okay with it?”

“I suspect the military is about as okay with it as the rest of the federal government is okay with you two running around hugging sasquatches and turning invisible,” Sam said.

“Fair point,” Hobbes said.

Sam tucked his hands into his armpits to stay warm. “So - what about you two?”

“I’ve pretty much always been in law enforcement,” Hobbes said. “Used to work for the FBI.”

“I used to be a thief,” Fawkes said.

“Oh?”

“Be a human guinea pig. Get out of jail free.”

Sam blinked. “Oh.”

“I was a guinea pig for my big brother, though.”

“Your brother must be a really smart guy.”

“He was.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly.

Fawkes shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

Something moved in the trees.

Sam spun, weapon up.

Dean’s voice cut through the darkness. “Sammy!”

Sam fumbled for his flashlight, turned it on. “Dean, over here!”

“Did you whammy me?” Dean demanded. “Like the time you did when you got kidnapped by those hillbilly cannibals? Because we were wrangling the mangy werewolf into the lock box, and it was all hands on deck.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I whammied you. Sorry. Forgot my radio.”

“Next time, grab it before you initiate combat with a werewolf.” Dean crashed through the trees, flashlight and gun in hand. “What happened?”

“We’re all fine,” Sam said. “Fawkes got kidnapped by the sasquatch. Rescued, really.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “For real? You’re friends with a sasquatch?” He turned to Fawkes.

Fawkes shrugged, ducked his head. “Sorta.”

“What did it look like, Sammy? Did you get pictures?”

“They have mojo,” Sam said. “It makes them turn invisible. So - no. No pictures.”

Dean’s face fall. “Well, at least we know it’s real. That’s a new one for the books. Now come on. Our mangy werewolf awaits.”

Sam fell in behind Dean, and Fawkes and Hobbes fell in behind him, and Sam wondered what tomorrow would bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Nietzche quote. Written for the Shoobie Monster Fest Evolutionary Throwback Day!


End file.
